


Opiate

by akitsuko



Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [6]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, First Time, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love, M/M, Medication, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s05e11 They Did What?, Protectiveness, Requited Love, Serious Injuries, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Edward is sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling at him with an expression Oswald can't quite read in his current state."Good morning, sleepyhead," he says. "Doesn't this just bring back memories?"Oswald is in a bad way, and Edward takes care of him.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001790
Comments: 27
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> #6 - Whump
> 
> Hang on, did I write something without any smut? Turns out I did, and while it can totally stand on its own, I'm also gonna write a smutty part 2 for anyone interested ;)

There's no delicate way to phrase it. When Oswald wakes up, he feels like absolute hell. 

He blinks his eyes open. Everything is blurry and spinning, and it takes him a few moments to concentrate his vision into focus. 

Edward is sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling at him with an expression Oswald can't quite read in his current state. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he says. "Doesn't this just bring back memories?" 

Memories. Just thinking about trying to conjure a memory makes Oswald's brain hurt. He screws his eyes closed against the wash of pain, swallows heavily, licks his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. 

Then he attempts to sit up, and he gasps desperately as agony fires throughout his whole system. Edward's hands are instantly at his shoulders, easing him back down. 

"Whoa," Edward murmurs. "You're in no shape to be moving around. Here, I brought you some water."

The mattress dips as he shuffles, then one hand is cradling the back of Oswald's head while the other holds a glass against his lips. Oswald obediently takes a few sips, too pained and too exhausted to protest. The feeling of Edward's palm against the back of his skull is comforting, grounding. Some part of him is trying to convince him that he ought to be embarrassed about his helplessness, but it speaks to his condition that he doesn't even have the energy for strong emotions. 

When Edward moves the glass away and gently lowers his head back to the pillow, he vaguely wonders what on earth must have happened to reduce him to this. He doesn't wonder too hard, though, because it turns out that thinking is awfully tiring too. A couple of weak coughs wrack his body. 

"There you go." Edward's hand comes back to brush Oswald's hair back and away from his forehead, where it feels as though it's stuck for some reason. "I would ask how you're feeling, but it seems a little… superfluous."

Where Edward's fingers rest against Oswald's head, they feel cold and heavy. Once upon a time, Oswald might have longed for a touch just like this, but right now he just wishes he had the strength to shake it away. He can't move, can't even speak, weighed down by the blanket and his pain and Edward's burdensome touch. 

All he can do is set his jaw into what he hopes is a grimace, and force out breath after shaking breath. He opens only his good eye and tries to fix his gaze on the shape of Edward, but his eye won't coordinate with his brain and darts around of its own accord. He catches just a glimpse of Edward's concerned frown before he allows his eye to drift closed again, heaving a frustrated sigh at the amount of effort it takes to do something so simple. 

"I know you must have a lot of questions," Edward says. He's wrong; Oswald doesn't have the coherency to form questions. "However, right now it's important that you get some more rest. I don't want to drug you, but trust me, I will if that's what it takes."

Oswald wants to tell him that drugs will not be necessary. He can barely turn his head, never mind fight to get out of bed. For once in his life, he would be content to slip back into unconsciousness and stay there for an eternity. He can't come up with a way to make his intentions clear though, so he settles for doing absolutely nothing, and hopefully Edward will get the message. 

Edward's hand strokes over his hair. As much as Oswald wants to swat him away, he can't deny that it has a soothing effect. Already, he feels the edges of his consciousness start blurring away. 

"Don't worry, my friend," Edward says, his voice low and quiet. "I'll be here when you wake up again. I promise."

\--

The next time Oswald stirs, he can barely even remember his previous flirtation with being awake. All he's really aware of is the terrible ache throughout his body; he might be dying. It's like the worst hangover he could ever imagine. There's a fog clouding his head. His mouth is stuffy, his tongue clumsy and slow. His face is sore, his chest hurts,  _ everything  _ hurts. 

He opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the low light from the lamps around the room and squinting with sensitivity. Moving, even a fraction, takes a monumental amount of effort, but with gritted teeth he shifts up onto his elbows. Ignoring the pain that sears through his abdomen at the strain, he notices that Edward is in the room with him, slumped awkwardly in a too-small chair and balancing his head precariously in his hand as he sleeps. 

Oswald tries to speak, but his throat is scratchy and apparently unable to produce sound. How annoying. Forgetting himself for a split second, he attempts to balance on one elbow while reaching out to tap Edward awake, but the motion sets his ribs alight and pulls so tightly at muscles in his back that he collapses back down with a pained exclamation. The sound jolts Edward out of his doze, and immediately he's fussing at Oswald's side, not even taking a second to adjust his wonky glasses. 

"I'm here, Oswald," he says. "Don't try to move or speak just yet. Give yourself a chance to adjust."

The pain subsides in increments, while Oswald tries to force the sudden tension back out of his body. Not one to be held back by his own defects, he fights against himself to choke out what he hopes are understandable words. 

"What happened?" 

Edward takes his hand between both of his own, squeezing gently, as if he's treating Oswald like some delicate thing. "We can talk about it when you've healed some. Putting extra strain on you could be detrimental for the moment."

Oswald grinds his teeth again, this time out of frustration. He hates feeling so vulnerable and helpless, especially when it's as agonisingly painful as this. So he sets himself to the task of cataloguing where, and how, he hurts. 

Obviously, there's his leg, which aches more than usual, but at least that's something he's familiar with. Everything else is new. He tries, without success, to wriggle his toes. They're stiff and raw. His normally good leg seems to be in even worse shape than the bad one, throbbing and cumbersome and impossible to shift. 

Moving up to his torso, every breath he takes makes it clear that he's sustained some considerable bruising and injury there. It's entirely possible that his ribs are cracked. And there's an odd, unpleasant sensation like he's been recently sliced right through the middle. His arms are heavy, useless weights at his sides, his fingers aching just as much as his toes, and he gets the distinct impression that he might be missing a fingernail or two. 

Every joint in his body seems to require a phenomenal effort to move. Even just keeping his eyes open is a test on his limits, and isn't that humiliating? 

"Ed…" It's all he can say past the scratching in his throat, but Edward has made an effort to anticipate his needs. 

"Have a sip of water." 

Oswald does so, the warm support of Edward's hand behind his shoulder blades an invaluable help as he also tips a small glass towards his lips. The intake makes Oswald splutter, which in turn makes his ribs scream and his ears ring. 

"Now, I need you to drink this." Oswald squints at a different glass, this time containing orange fluid, as Edward holds it up in front of him so he can see it. "There's a carefully dosed assortment of medications dissolved in there. I didn't think you would be able to swallow pills right now. But this will help to take the edge off the pain for you, and hopefully counteract any infections before they begin."

Painkillers sound much more palatable to Oswald right now, so he approaches this task with more enthusiasm than the last, doing his best to cooperate despite his discomfort and the coughing fit he suffers after he forces down the final mouthful. 

It turns out that the coughing saps him of the little energy he'd managed to restore during his rest, and his breathing is heavy as he feels himself already drifting back towards sleep. He must really need it. 

"Relax," Edward soothes him. There's a brush of skin and bone along Oswald's cheek, and he thinks it's probably the back of Edward's knuckles, but he couldn't say for sure. "I promise we'll talk about it when you're able. I'm not going anywhere."

Oswald wants to talk about it now. There's so much he needs to know. So much, in fact, that he doesn't know where to begin, and he does not enjoy being out of the loop. Until he starts remembering what happened to him, he's going to have to rely on second-hand information, which is bad enough. And although he and Edward are on better terms now than they have been for a very long time, he doesn't exactly have a history of being reliable.

But no amount of willpower can snap him out of this situation. All he can do is resign himself to more rest, and hope that clarity will come later. 

\--

He drifts in and out of consciousness. Sometimes, during his periods of drowsy wakefulness, he catches Edward staring at him and biting his lip. Sometimes Edward holds his hand, or combs his fingers through Oswald's hair. 

He's too tired even to smile. It feels like a fever dream. 

Other times, he peels his good eye open and he can't see Edward anywhere. He's been abandoned. Edward has let him down and betrayed him, like he always does, and if Oswald weren't numbed from pain and drugs, he might shed a tear or two, because will he never learn? 

His sleep then is plagued with anxiety, nightmares that he can't quite remember. 

He wakes again, and Edward is back, and Oswald can smell coffee. 

Edward is fussing with some blankets near the foot of the bed. 

Edward is sitting in the chair beside the bed, a pen in one hand and a book in the other, resting on his knee. Probably crosswords. He likes those. 

Edward is at the open window, staring out at the view while he taps his fingers restlessly on the sill. 

Then finally,  _ finally _ , Oswald wakes up with a decent level of lucidity. For the first time, he recognises the room as his own. He notes that it's mostly dark outside, although whether that makes it early evening or early morning is more difficult to tell. He has absolutely no idea what day it even is. The pain is more of a fuzz addling his brain than the overwhelming priority that it was before; whatever Edward has given him, it appears to be doing its job. 

He blinks his surroundings into focus. Edward himself is back in the chair again, hunched over and staring at his phone. Oswald clears his throat, partially as a test for his body and partially to get Edward's attention, which it immediately does, with Edward nearly dropping his phone as he whips his head up. 

"Are you with me yet, Oswald?" 

It seems like an odd question, before it occurs to Oswald that he may have come across as rather muddled when he's been awake before. It certainly feels like it. He knows, at any rate, that he's been quite incapable of making sense. 

He manages a single nod, hurt pulsing through the tendons in his neck, and he decides to make an attempt at speech. "Help me sit up."

He starts moving himself before Edward has a chance to protest and insist he remains horizontal, and Edward is all over him in a second, presumably to make sure he doesn't aggravate any of his injuries. Together, and with a monumental effort on Oswald's part, they manage to get Oswald into a sitting position, propped up against the headboard with several pillows behind his back. It takes a while for Oswald's world to stop spinning again, the sudden blood rush from the movement getting the better of his perception. He leans his head back, pleased that he's finally no longer lying down, and more pleased still that his vocal chords seem to be working without too much hassle. 

"How's that?" Edward asks, adjusting the pillows. "Comfortable?" 

"Better, thank you." Oswald glances over at the bedside table, weighing up the possibility that he will be able to reach the glass of water there by himself, but Edward follows his gaze and easily beats him to it. He's hovering the glass in front of Oswald's mouth, and although Oswald wants to protest at being treated so cautiously, he doesn't have the energy to do anything other than roll his eyes as he takes a few careful sips. 

"You need to stay hydrated," Edward tells him, watching his face attentively. "Is there anything else I can get you?" 

Oswald tugs at the blanket covering him, feebly trying to free himself from its constraints. He's grateful to find that he's wearing pyjamas, although they're very loose and definitely not his own. "I need… the bathroom."

"Oh!" Edward reaches down under the bed and, to Oswald's mounting horror, retrieves a bucket. "Here, I brought this so that you wouldn't exert yourself more than necessary-" 

Oswald cuts him off with a look as stern as he can manage in his current state. "Absolutely not."

He continues trying to fight his way free from the bedding, finally easing his legs over the edge of the mattress until he's sitting up and heaving from the effort, while Edward looks on in exasperation and concern. 

"Don't be stubborn, Oswald. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Oswald ignores him resolutely. If he had the strength, this might be the point where his temper began to fray. However, he needs every ounce of his attention on coordinating his body and mustering the energy and determination to stand and walk. 

Edward abandons the bucket when it becomes clear that Oswald will not be entertaining that idea, and steps in close to his side to help him, slipping one arm securely around his waist to support him. The extra pressure on Oswald's multitude of mystery wounds makes him wince, and his knees want to buckle as he tries to balance and support his own weight. 

"If you collapse halfway there," Edward says, his presence steadying and solid, "don't say I didn't warn you." 

They shuffle to the en-suite together, inch by excruciating inch, until they finally reach the door and Oswald can lean heavily against the frame. The warmth of Edward's body pressed against his own is too much for him to handle right now, and he has to get away. He holds up a hand when Edward tries to follow him into the bathroom. 

"I can pee by myself."

Edward furrows his brows, but he doesn't push the issue. "I'll wait here for you," he concedes, and Oswald is grateful that at least he can maintain this tiny amount of dignity. 

He pushes the door closed behind him, leaning against the sink and pointedly not looking in the mirror. He dreads to think what his reflection would show him right now, and he would much rather live in blissful ignorance until he has the wherewithal to do something about it. Besides, it takes all his concentration to empty his bladder without making a mess, and by the time that ordeal is over, he's quite forgotten about the state he must look like. 

He wishes he could linger in the bathroom on his own for a while, but not only does his pain make that an impossibility, dulled from the meds though it is, he also knows that Edward will only wait for so long before barging in uninvited, under the mistaken assumption that he's struggling. Well, mostly mistaken. 

True to his word, Edward is right outside the door when he opens it, ready to help him make the slow and arduous journey back to bed. When they finally do get there, Oswald feels more like he's just run a marathon than crossed his bedroom at a snail's pace, and he's grateful that Edward props him back to lean against the headboard and his small mountain of pillows. 

"Thank you, Ed."

Edward's answering smile is wide and bright. "It's nothing. How's your pain?" 

Oswald grimaces. "I've had better days, but whatever you gave me is helping." He sighs, and stares ahead without really seeing. He'd thought the pain had been bad when Fish destroyed his leg, or when he lost his eye, but right now he gets the distinct impression that he's lucky to be alive. 

The combination of rest and medication has given him enough coherency, and enough of an ability to get words out of his mouth, that he feels ready to get some answers that he desperately needs. 

"Care to tell me why I feel like I've been hit by a bus?" 

Edward sits back down in his chair, turning it to face Oswald properly, and leaning his elbows on his knees. "How much do you remember?" 

"Everything is jumbled. I can't…"

"Hey." Edward takes his hand and links their fingers together. It's ridiculously intimate, more than either of them have any right to be with each other, and with Oswald's nerves as raw and exposed as they are right now, it makes him want to cry. "Getting yourself stressed will only make things worse. Save that for when you're better and your body can handle the raised blood pressure. For now, we're just talking."

Oswald nods slowly, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat and the tears threatening to start spilling down his face. Edward is right; there's nothing he can do right now, so he might as well do his best to stay calm, if for no reason other than it will allow him to heal more quickly and get to work dishing out some consequences for whoever is behind his suffering this time. He tightens his hand in Edward's grip. "Yes, you're right. My throat is sore, so forgive me if I don't speak much."

"Of course, Oswald," Edward replies, squeezing his hand back. "You ought to be taking it easy, anyway. Let me talk you through what I know. You can chime in if you feel the need, but I would rather you were resting, so responses are not compulsory."

Oswald smiles gratefully. It hurts his aching face. 

"Several days ago," Edward begins, "you and I were doing some work towards the restoration of the Lounge. I left early, because I had some other business I needed to attend to, and we agreed to meet for dinner in the evening. You never showed. You'll understand that I assumed you were acting out of pettiness, and I thought very little of it."

That statement wrenches at Oswald's gut, not least because he really does understand. There have been several occasions, since they've tentatively put their volatile past behind them, when he's behaved poorly for no reason other than childish spite. The truth is, he's been trying desperately to convince them both that he's no longer under the thumb of the deep affection he continues to harbour for Edward against his better judgement. Edward's not been perfect either, but that's hardly the point. 

"But," Edward continues, "after a while, it seemed suspicious that you had apparently vanished from the face of the earth. I called, and your phone didn't even ring. And when I asked around, no one had seen or heard from you."

Edward had been worried about him? That thought eases some of his guilt, replacing it with something considerably warmer. 

"I was about to start doing some digging, when a ransom demand arrived. It turned out that a small gang, hoping to take some power in the underworld as Gotham rebuilds, had taken you and were hoping to use you as a bargaining chip." Here, Edward scoffs derisively as his grip on Oswald's hand constricts. "Amateurs. They had no idea what they were dealing with."

Oswald makes a quizzical expression, and Edward softens in response, allowing some of his residual anger dissipate. 

"All they knew was that we were friends, and they expected me to bend to their whims to get you back. They did not appreciate all we've been through together, and how close we are now despite everything that's happened between us. They failed to anticipate my skills, or the… lengths I would go to in order to get you back.

"I ignored their demands. I tracked them to an old warehouse near the docks, and hired a substantial amount of muscle from the Narrows to take with me. I used your money for that, by the way, but I didn't think you would mind. We stormed the place, and we got almost all of them. One of those degenerates managed to slip out somehow. But the rest, I can assure you, were  _ begging  _ to die by the time I was finished with them."

A surge of pride swells within Oswald. Without him, Edward might never have embraced this side of himself. 

"I couldn't see you, at first, and I feared the worst. But we searched the building, and found you in a locked storage room. You were… not in a good way. You don't need me to describe it for you, I'm sure you can imagine easily enough."

Oswald allows it to go unsaid, because there's anguish creeping into Edward's face, and he's distraught to think that it's coming from the memory of seeing him essentially beaten to a pulp. He has no desire to make Edward dredge up any unnecessary and unpleasant details. He will be able to get a much better idea of what they did to him once he's able to assess his injuries properly, and now that he knows it was all done with deliberate intent… well, he does not intend to show any mercy once he's recovered. 

Edward swallows, and clears his throat. "I got you back here. I paid a doctor to come out and assess you. The prognosis was poor. I know that you're extraordinarily resilient, but I confess that for a time I wasn't sure that you could come back from this."

At that, Oswald huffs out a weak laugh. "You, of all people, ought to know better."

Edward laughs along with him, and it's a relief to feel some of the tension lifting from the room. Any discussion of feelings is dangerous territory for them, and usually best avoided. Oswald certainly makes a concentrated effort to suppress any strong emotions that Edward might awaken in him, and Edward tends to keep himself at an equal emotional distance. Their friendship couldn't survive that again. 

But this little monologue of Edward's is veering uncomfortably close to all those things that Oswald tries desperately not to think about. 

"You were unconscious for just over a day," Edward continues, regaining his bearings. "All I could do was treat your wounds and watch you. You've been waking up intermittently for the past two days, but this is the first time I think you've been really aware of what's going on. Which is hardly surprising; I've been trying to get painkillers into you as often as I can, and I was also able to persuade the doctor to prescribe a few doses of oral morphine. Trust me, you've been on the good stuff."

It's no wonder that everything is such a muddle to him. He's drugged up to his eyeballs, as he'd suspected. He wants to be mad about it, but he knows deep down that the pain would be utterly unbearable without any pharmaceutical assistance. 

It begins to sink in that, at least for a short time, Edward had believed that he had been close to death. What a jarring thought. 

"I was not prepared to lose you again, Oswald," Edward says quietly, staring down at their joined hands, and Oswald feels his fingers twitch. 

"I'm lucky to have you, my friend," he allows himself to respond, before steering the conversation back to safer, more practical matters. "What is my current injury status? I assume you've been checking."

Edward nods. "I reset your dislocated joints. I cleaned all of your external wounds thoroughly, and thus far none of them show any signs of infection. There's a lot of very heavy bruising pretty much everywhere, actually, but especially around your ribs and abdomen. You… "

Edward pauses, and makes a strange face, like he's fighting the urge to vomit. The last time Oswald saw him make a face like that was after the grenade, and he'd got his first good look at the state of Oswald's eye. Then he composes himself and carries on, although his voice is noticeably strained. 

"You've lost a few fingernails. And toenails. Your nose was broken. I'm afraid you'll have a few new scars, even after everything has healed up. And you now have an undercut on the left side of your head, because I needed to be able to examine the worst of your head wounds properly. Sorry about that."

Oswald reaches up with his free hand, to confirm this, and is disconcerted to find that he does indeed have a stubbly shaved area, above and behind his left ear. Then his fingers touch over what must be the wound Edward is referring to, tender and heavily scabbed and under a thick dressing, and he immediately appreciates why the haircut was necessary. He will grudgingly forgive it. Perhaps he'll even lean into it as a new look, once he's better. 

"We don't know the extent of any internal injuries yet, but there are bound to be some," Edward continues. "You'll be under close observation for at least a few more days."

"Yours, I assume?" 

"Naturally."

They share a smile that tugs at Oswald's heartstrings. 

"The doctor recommended that you should rest as much as possible for at least a week. Even after that time, you shouldn't try to move around more than you absolutely have to. I know you'll get bored, but I'll be here all the time unless I need to get food or anything else, so at least you'll have company. If there's anything you need or want at any time, you have to let me know, alright?"

It will be both a blessing and a curse, Oswald reflects, to have Edward hovering constantly in his space for a week. Likely longer. Perhaps it's all the medication buzzing through his system, but suddenly he needs to know the answer to the unwise question that's been fluttering in the back of his mind. 

"Why are you here, Ed?" 

It's loaded with everything he can't say, and Edward knows it, if the troubled expression on his face is anything to go by. Why was Edward so keen to locate him, and to save him? Why did he deliver such retribution to his captors? Why has he remained at his side since he brought him home, doting on him at every turn? He didn't have to. He had no obligation. Yet here he is, sleeping in a chair by his bedside and half-carrying him to the bathroom. 

They are friends. It's taken them a long time to get to this point of tentative mutual trust, but they made it, despite the odds being set against them at every turn. Oswald would be doing both of them a disservice not to acknowledge their relationship for what it is. Because Edward was right when he said they were closer now than anyone could have anticipated, and they've both known it from the moment they chose not to plunge their knives into each other's backs all those months ago.

But this carries a hint of something else, something all-consuming and irrefutable. 

Edward flounders for a moment, his mouth working open and closed as he tries to find the right words. His hand is still so warm in Oswald's. 

"I couldn't lose you," he eventually repeats. He looks so tired and worn out, every bit his age compared to his usual flamboyant and youthful demeanour, and Oswald realises that he's choosing to be open with him, to make himself vulnerable, shaken by the events and 'what could have been's of the past few days. It makes something warm and possessive curl inside his chest. Maybe it really is the drugs, or maybe it's the brutal reminder of his own mortality, but Oswald is spurred to continue, to take the courageous path that was so cruelly snatched away from him at that fateful dinner back when he was the mayor. 

In light of recent events, he has to know the truth. 

"I know you didn't… love me, before," he says, the words tangling around his tongue and sticking bitterly in his mouth. "I, however, could no more stop loving you than I could grow a new leg."

"Oswald-"

"I'm not trying to make things awkward for you," Oswald cuts him off, determined to say his piece. "But knowing that I would have died without you these last few days, it's made me realise that I would appreciate some closure. You mean so much to me, Ed, and I don't want to lose you either."

It near enough breaks his heart to openly acknowledge how he still pines, how it's doing neither of them any favours, and how he needs Edward's permission to be at peace with himself. But if he's going to continue to be close to Edward, then he needs to be able to stuff all of his romantic hopes into a locked box at the back of his mind and ignore them for the rest of his life, however long that might be. 

He's had life without Edward before, and it was unbearable. 

Then Edward leans over him and presses a gentle kiss to his lips, his free hand coming up to rest lightly against his cheek. Tears spill freely from Oswald's eyes as he closes them, savouring the contact in case this isn't a contradiction but rather a form of goodbye. It's more perfect than he's ever imagined. He inhales deeply, hoping that he can commit Edward's scent to memory. Though his physical responses are sluggish, turmoil rises within him like a cyclone, and he cracks a sob against Edward's mouth just before he retreats back into his own space. 

Oswald's lips tingle. His breathing is irregular, as if his body has forgotten how to do it. His heartbeat has remained slow, but he can feel the blood pulsing through his veins at his wrists and the sides of his neck. He's reluctant to open his eyes, wanting to cling to this particular memory of Edward forever. 

Edward's fingers trail along his cheek. "Oswald, I'm not going anywhere."

Oswald allows his eyes to drift open. There's every chance that this could be a profoundly torturous hallucination, but when he braves a glance at Edward's face, he can see the hope for a new beginning, rather than an ending. He laughs softly, disbelieving and delirious, and Edward joins in, squeezing his grip around Oswald's fingers. 

Perhaps they both have some healing to do, but at least they won't have to do it alone. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2, as promised! Smut incoming, plus I tied up that little loose end that I left dangling last time :)

Oswald is so filled with pride, he feels as though he might burst. Of course, that could also be from where he's pulling his stitches, eagerly leaning forward on his cane. Edward has truly outdone himself here; if Oswald had any lingering doubts about the sincerity of Edward's feelings, this would have eradicated them entirely. 

He's transformed an entire room downstairs into a… well, a torture chamber is the best way to describe it. A heavy chair, complete with leather straps at the arms and the legs, is bolted down to the floor. There's a tarpaulin sheet laid down around it. A single table, just off to one side, displays an array of tools, sharp and blunt alike. A hacksaw, a scalpel, a pair of pliers and a box of matches, to name a few. 

He's even had the foresight to place another chair, more comfortable for Oswald's own use, at the best vantage point to watch from so that he doesn't tire too quickly from standing. Oswald is grateful; it's only been just over a week, after all, since his ordeal that almost resulted in his death, and he's far from fully healed. 

However, he has slowly been losing his mind, being stuck in his bedroom with no variety except the odd trip to the en-suite bathroom. Edward has been strict in his insistence that he should keep movement to a minimum, to expedite the healing process, but it's hardly been a restful time. The pain throughout his body flares up in between doses of medication, reducing him to a sweaty, whimpering mess. His sleep is fitful, and he's sure he's having nightmares that he can't remember, because sometimes when he wakes up, Edward is already leaning over him, stroking his hair and pressing kisses to his forehead. 

But there are only so many of Edward's puzzle books he can look through before he goes insane, so Oswald had leapt at the chance when Edward suggested helping him downstairs for a change of scenery. He's almost able to hobble around by himself now, although Edward stays close to his side and supports him at the elbow just in case. Every step still hurts, but not to the point of making him feel like he might pass out, so at least it's progress. He is getting better. 

But he didn't expect to find anything like this. Edward must have put it all together during his long bouts of heavily medicated unconsciousness. 

And Edward looks phenomenal in the middle of it all, his crisp, white shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows, a wide and brilliant smile on his face as he looks to Oswald for approval, and wearing a utility-style apron over his clothes. 

"Ta-da!" he exclaims, holding his palms out as if to say voila. 

"Oh, Ed, this is fantastic," he gushes, limping over to sit in the comfortable chair as he continues to take in the details. "What's the occasion?" 

"I just wanted to make you happy!" Edward is clearly excited about whatever he has in store, and his grin turns manic. "You may or may not recall me telling you that one of the pieces of human excrement who kidnapped you managed to escape."

Oswald already likes where this is going. 

"Well," Edward continues, "it won't surprise you to know that I've been hard at work tracking him down, and that I've had this space prepared especially for him."

Oswald grins back at him. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

Edward winks at him, and takes a few long strides over to a large chest that Oswald hadn't previously noticed. 

"Without further ado, I proudly present…" he flings the lid open, reaches in with both hands, and hauls out the floppy and unconscious form of a man, "Derek Jankowski. By no means a major player in the gang that took you, but the only member so far not to suffer the consequences for his actions."

Oswald peers at the man's slack features, trying to determine whether he recognises him. Although his physical injuries are healing nicely, Oswald's memory of what happened to him has yet to return in full. So far, he's only had a few dribbles of half-memories, snapshot moments that make no sense without their context. He can't pinpoint this man in any of them, but his face does seem vaguely familiar. Curious. 

He watches as Edward drags the man's limp body over and into the specially designed chair, strapping his wrists and ankles tight at the designated points. His head slumps forwards, and Oswald wonders whether it would be worth using something to secure his neck upright too. 

"Now," Edward says, "all that remains is to wake him up. You, Oswald, are not to strain yourself, do you understand? Just sit back, and enjoy the show."

Oswald can't help how giddily lovesick his smile turns. "I love you so much."

Edward picks up something from the table that looks like a long, metal skewer. He throws it up in a twirl, then catches it in the same hand. "This is all for you."

Impossibly, Oswald loves him even more. He does as he's told, settling as comfortably as he can into his seat and watching with rapt attention as Edward slowly inserts the skewer into one of the man's ears until he wakes up and screams. 

\--

"You were a vision, Ed," Oswald sighs as they shuffle together back to his room, lightheaded from the adrenaline that always overwhelms his system during a torture or murder session. "You have such a talent for inflicting suffering."

"I'm glad it was to your satisfaction," Edward replies. "I wasn't prepared to let him get away with his part in what happened to you."

"My knight in shining armour," Oswald gushes, immediately surprised that the words spilled out of his mouth. His tongue is clearly still a little loose from all the drugs. These spurts of loopiness are as unpredictable as they are embarrassing, although they only seem to amuse Edward, who looks at him now with a bewildered but fond smile. 

"Could I get that in writing?" 

Oswald snorts. He isn't that loopy. "Not a chance."

"Spoilsport." 

When they reach the bed, Oswald is quick to collapse onto the mattress. He hates how easily he tires, but there's nothing to be done for it except rest. 

"Oswald," Edward chastises him as he perches beside him and helps him to lie back properly, plumping his pillows. "Throwing yourself around like that could aggravate your wounds."

Oswald waves his hand dismissively. "It will do no such thing."

The look on Edward's face is strained patience as he quirks an eyebrow. "You're not invincible, you know." 

"I've been shot, and more than once, at that. A grenade blew up at me. Did I ever tell you about the time I was put into a car crusher? And yet, here I am before you, completely fine."

Both of Edward's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, so Oswald reconsiders. 

"Alright. Here I am before you,  _ alive _ . My body can handle enormous amounts of strain."

Edward doesn't look convinced as he takes his hand, threading their fingers together. "Your resilience is one of the many things I've always admired about you. But that's no reason to poke your injuries with a stick. I can't bear the thought of you in any more pain."

Oswald's brain-to-mouth filter might be impaired, but his perception is very much at full strength, and he takes in Edward's expression carefully. The downturned purse of his lips, the wrinkle between his eyebrows, the way he's steadfastly avoiding meeting Oswald's gaze. "What's wrong?" he asks, his previous levity replaced with concern.

Edward rubs his thumb absently over Oswald's knuckles, and takes a deep breath before he speaks. "This was my fault. I should have known that something was wrong, I should have been able to find you sooner. If I had, then maybe you wouldn't have had to endure so much."

"Ed, no," Oswald hurries to cut him off and struggles to sit himself up against the headboard. "None of this was your fault. Come on, you've never been the type to blame yourself. And think of it this way - if it weren't for you, it's unlikely I would have made it out of that warehouse at all."

His words don't seem to have the comforting effect that he'd hoped they would. Edward only appears to get lost further in his own thoughts.

"I thought I could make up for it by killing them all. Like maybe I could deserve you again. After I finished with Derek today, I expected to feel relieved, like the weight had been lifted. But the guilt is still there. I know I can't go back and stop you getting hurt, but I wish I knew how I could atone for my part in it."

"You can be such an idiot," Oswald huffs, in another momentary lapse in his mental filter. "You didn't have a part in it, so there's nothing to atone for. I'm getting better, and neither of us can change the past, so what's the point in dwelling? Forget this misplaced guilt, because it's not a good look on you, and look to the future instead."

Edward finally looks at him. "The future?" 

"Yes. Our future.  _ Together.  _ We will rule this city again. We are an unbeatable force, and the lowlives of Gotham will know that to cross one of us is to incur the wrath of the other. Or…" he pauses, as another thought occurs to him. "Or we could just start over. Go somewhere where nobody knows who we are. We could get a house, and I'll open another club, and you could write crosswords for the local paper."

That makes Edward laugh, finally dislodging the sad look from his face. "Now I'm sure that's the painkillers talking. You would never leave Gotham."

"For you, Edward, I would do absolutely anything." While it's true that he refused to leave in their submarine, he had been under the impression that his love was thoroughly unrequited at the time. Things are very different now. Then, as his internal filter fails him once more, before he can stop himself he blurts out, "Make love to me." 

Edward's eyes widen so far that it looks like they might pop right out of his skull, and a blush colours his face the most delightful pink. "I beg your pardon?" 

Unable to snatch the words out of the air and shove them back down his own traitorous throat, Oswald squares his shoulders and soldiers on. "Make love to me," he repeats. "I love you. You love me. You just killed a man for me. Let me do this in return for you."

"Oswald…" For once in his life Edward seems to be at a loss for words. "I… You're not supposed to be doing anything strenuous."

Oswald rolls his eyes. "So do it carefully. Is that your only objection?"

"I'm not sure you're in the right frame of mind to be making requests like that."

Reaching forwards with his free hand to take Edward's chin between his thumb and forefinger, he coaxes Edward to look at him again. 

"I may be heavily medicated," he says, "but this is hardly sudden for me. I want you with every fibre of my being. Maybe it seems like it's too soon, but is it, really, when you think about it? What are we waiting for? Unless…" Oswald rears back as if he's been burnt. "Oh god. I've misunderstood. You don't want me." 

"Of course I want you!" Edward argues. "More than anything."

Oswald sags with relief. For a second there, his whole world had shattered. These drugs are really doing a number on him; perhaps Edward has a point about his state of mind after all. At the same time, he's more open and relaxed than he's been in a very long time, so isn't that something they ought to make the most of while it lasts? If their relationship is going to get physical sooner or later anyway, is there really any reason why it shouldn't be now? 

Then Edward says, quietly, "I don't want to hurt you." The 'again' goes unspoken, but Oswald hears it clear as day. This isn't about him as much as it's about Edward's residual guilt. 

"You haven't, and you won't. Do you remember that time on the pier, when I told you that I trusted you?" 

Edward gets a faraway look in his eyes. 

"I still trust you. You're the only one, Ed. And I hope that you trust me too."

Inching closer, as if he's still unsure, Edward leans in and finally kisses him. Oswald melts into the touch. They've done a lot of this since that fateful conversation after Oswald woke up about a week ago, and every time it blows Oswald's mind. The most perfect display of affection, granted to him by the only man he's ever truly loved, and he wishes he could pour his entire being into it, to show Edward just how deeply he's cared for. 

Due to Oswald's injuries, however, they've progressed no further than these kisses. Which is fine, Oswald reasons, it really is. He could kiss Edward all day with the most wonderful satisfaction. And they have, on a few occasions, become rather heated, delving tongues and curious hands amping up the passion in their romantic moments together. 

It just feels like the right time for more. 

When they break apart, Edward leans their foreheads together. "Are you sure?" 

Oswald cups his face, appreciating the way Edward nuzzles into his palm. "Please, let me share this with you."

Then Edward's mouth is on his again, hungrier, more intent behind his movements. He's still careful in the way he handles Oswald, but his hesitation only comes from a place of concern. Oswald holds him close, unwilling to let him go even for a moment, his weak arms clutching around Edward's shoulders like a lifeline. 

Edward pulls back from the kiss only to mouth along his jawline, mindful of the green-yellow bruises still peppering the skin there. As best he can manage, Oswald lets his head fall back and to the side, allowing and encouraging further access down his neck. 

"Is that a yes?" he grinds out, already dizzy from the warmth of Edward's lips trailing across his skin, and Edward answers him with a tiny nip of sharp teeth over his pulse point. 

"It was never a no. I just want to be sure I'm not taking advantage of you. I need you to know how meaningful this is for me." Edward smooths his hands along Oswald's thighs. 

"How can you take advantage of me when I would willingly give you anything and everything?" Oswald sighs, Edward's hair tickling the shell of his ear, his scent delicious and intoxicating. "I love you so much."

With a final sucking kiss to his neck, Edward brings his head up to look at Oswald in the eyes again, before placing a softer kiss on his lips. Oswald whimpers. 

"Lie back," Edward whispers. "Let me take care of you. I'm going to make you feel so good."

It's like all of Oswald's dreams have come true at once, save for a few less pleasant details. On his back, as Edward carefully divests him of his loose nightclothes, it takes everything he has to keep his responses measured. 

When he's lying bared for Edward's perusal, he fights the urge to cover himself. There's a chill in the air that makes him shiver from head to toe. He knows that, logically, Edward has seen him naked on several occasions in the past, and he must surely have done so again after he rescued him from the warehouse and assessed his injuries. This is different, though. There's nothing clinical and impersonal about this. And, covered as he is in wounds of all manner of shapes, sizes, and stages of healing, Oswald is more aware than ever that he doesn't exactly look his best. 

Edward's gaze flits from one area to another quickly, apparently unsure where to settle. While his expression darkens at the sight of Oswald's broken body, there's something else there in his eyes, a look that suggests he might devour Oswald alive if given half the chance. 

Just as Oswald is about to clear his throat and say something to clear the embarrassment from the air, Edward appears to snap back to reality, looking back up at Oswald's face. "I'm going to assume that you have something we can… use. Somewhere around here?" 

Oswald stares at him blankly, confused for a few long moments, before finally catching his meaning. "Oh! Yes. Try the bottom drawer, over there." 

Edward almost trips over his own feet in his haste to get there, and returns having successfully retrieved the nearly full bottle of lube. He climbs up onto the bed, settling himself between Oswald's legs, and making Oswald feel impossibly more exposed. 

Oswald takes a few deep breaths as he watches Edward squeeze out a generous amount and start warming it between his fingers, but he's not as nervous as he thought he would be. He's done other things with lovers before, but all that was a long time ago, and it never included anything like this. It almost seemed silly in his younger days, but he held tightly onto his mother's assurances that he would find true love someday, and steadfastly refused ever to make the leap into penetrative sex with anyone he didn't intend to spend his life with. 

Edward is the only person who has ever given him such feelings of permanence. And it's taken them a long time to get to this point, but Oswald is supremely glad that his efforts to, well,  _ save himself  _ are finally about to pay off. 

Minus his beaten state, it might even feel like the end of a fairytale. 

Edward coaxes him to bring his legs further apart and his knees up, and then he jumps at the sensation of Edward's slick fingertip circling his rim. It's surprising and unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. 

Edward kisses the inside of his knee as his finger continues its gentle, external explorations. "I haven't done this to another person before. You have to tell me if it hurts."

Immediately, Oswald's mind is flooded with a thousand filthy images of Edward doing this to  _ himself _ , the sentiment heavily implied in his statement. He closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the stunning image Edward would make, on his knees and bent over, one hand reaching behind to slip those long fingers in and out of himself. His glasses would be knocked askew, or perhaps he would take them off completely. His face would be flushed, his skin covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his mouth hanging open as he moaned at the feeling of being stretched thin. 

The vivid detail his imagination conjures of the fantasy makes his cock throb in real life, and he flexes his fingers in the bedsheets. Edward's finger is still there, not quite inside him, teasing and snagging at his entrance, while Edward watches his body's responses with rapt attention. 

"Please, Eddie," Oswald hears himself say without meaning to, and Edward's finger slips into him just to the first knuckle, effectively taking his breath away. He loses the ability to think in words. It doesn't hurt, but it's strange and new, and he wriggles his hips, forgetting about his injuries for a split second. 

"You're going to hurt yourself like that," Edward warns him. "I want you to stay still, if you can."

Oswald knows he's right. That small hip wriggle has already sent a shot of pain up his spine. But that will be nothing compared to the frustration if Edward decides to stop, so he resolves to follow instructions and keep still as best he can. 

It's not easy though, especially as that finger pushes further up inside him. He lets out a desperate sound as Edward starts to move it slowly in and out, twisting it as he moves, his bony knuckles catching against his skin in a way that sends shockwaves through his body. 

"Oh, god," he groans, his eyes wide but unseeing, all his attention focused on trying not to impale himself deeper. "Ed… It feels… I need…"

Edward twists his finger again, and he cuts himself off with a bitten down keen. 

"Tell me, love," Edward says, using his free hand to skitter across Oswald's inner thigh, then following its path with his tongue. "I'll do anything for you."

Edward's use of the L-word intensifies everything Oswald is feeling tenfold, and he squeezes his eyes closed against the overwhelming onslaught of emotion. "More," he chokes, and almost cries when straight away a second finger strokes at his entrance alongside the first. They slip inside him together, and his answering moan is a high-pitched and wanton thing. 

He's never considered himself to be a creature particularly susceptible to the pleasures of the flesh, but he would give all his past and future empires to ensure that this feeling would never end. 

Edward builds up his movements to gentle, deep thrusts, still twisting and often scissoring his fingers to get Oswald accommodated to the stretch. And yes, it's a stretch, but it's also nothing short of amazing. For someone who's never done this before, Edward moves with the grace and precision of an expert. When he pushes his fingers as deep as they will go and crooks them ever so slightly, they brush up against something that has Oswald howling, unable to stop himself arching up into it. 

Then Oswald remembers that he's not supposed to be moving too much, so he bites his lip as he attempts to hold still, but it's not easy as Edward repeats the same move over and over again. Before long, Oswald's entire body is shaking and his lip is raw, and he's not sure how much longer he can endure this without thrashing like he desperately wants to and setting himself back several days of healing. 

"Does that feel good, Os?" 

"You know it does!" Oswald snaps, his voice coming out in a broken whine. Edward just chuckles and pulls his fingers out completely, giving Oswald a moment or two to catch his breath. 

"I'm going to add another, OK?" 

"Please…" It's all Oswald can say, and it turns into a drawn-out groan as Edward pushes three slick fingers inside him. The stretch burns a little more this time, but not enough to take away from the overwhelming pleasure of knowing that he has part of Edward in him. 

It doesn't take Edward long to find that same magical spot again, the one that turns his thoughts into mush and has him seeing stars. When he does, he rubs against it relentlessly, causing Oswald to make noises he hadn't even known he  _ could _ make, every sore muscle in his body tensing against the need to move or just  _ do something.  _ He can feel his cock lying against his stomach, hard and leaking. He could probably climax untouched, stimulated only by Edward's fingers working within him, and that thought alone sends another dizzying wave of arousal through him. 

"Ed," he gasps. "Ed, Ed, Ed!" Edward's name comes out of his mouth like a chant, the man consuming him as no one else ever could, from the inside out. 

Then Edward slows his movements, scissoring his fingers one final time before removing them and wiping them off on the blanket beside him. Oswald already feels as though he's climbed thirty flights of stairs, and doesn't have it in himself to scold Edward for the mess he's making. He just watches, dazed and his heart overflowing with affection, as Edward swiftly undresses himself and pours out more lube to slick his own erection. 

Oswald's mouth starts to water. He wants, more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. Seeing Edward naked and hard and touching himself speaks to him on a deeply private level, a personal fantasy he's returned to time and time again over the years. To have it happening for real… Oswald wonders if he's about to start having an out-of-body experience. He sincerely hopes not, given what his body is imminently going to enjoy. 

Edward takes care as he manoeuvres Oswald into a better position, his hips propped up with a pillow, then kneels back between his legs. He squeezes both of Oswald's knees as he regards him, his pupils dilated so far that his eyes look almost completely black, and a lovely pink flush across his cheeks. He's utterly gorgeous. Oswald is sure that he must look a mess himself, but he doesn't care when Edward is looking at him like that. 

"Ready?" 

Oswald nods, his heart hammering in his chest. "I love you, Ed."

Edward nods, more to himself than to Oswald, and guides the tip of his cock to Oswald's stretched hole.

The first touch against him makes Oswald swallow, hard. It feels different to his fingers, smoother and blunt and almost alarmingly bigger. Then, when Edward finally breaches him, he gasps and fists his hands in the sheets while his legs tremble. There's more resistance this time, and he has to make a conscious effort to relax, while Edward's hands smooth over every inch of exposed skin he can reach, pressing frantic kisses to his knees as his own composure starts to unravel. 

Inch by painstaking inch, Oswald's muscles ease off enough to allow Edward inside him fully, and they both pause when Edward's balls are finally brushing against his ass, breathing heavily. 

Edward's eyes are trained on the place that they're joined together. Oswald wishes he could see too. He feels impossibly full, split open as far as he can go, giving his full self to Edward like he's wanted to ever since that fateful night on the couch at the Manor. 

Edward looks up at him, his features full of awe, and lifts a shaking hand to sweep Oswald's hair back and caress his face. "I love you too, Oswald." He ducks his head, turning his face against the flesh of Oswald's thigh. "I love you so much."

This time, there's nothing Oswald can do to stop the tears falling. There's too much emotion to keep contained within his body. "Move," he begs. " _ Please!"  _

Edward shudders, and Oswald feels the vibrations from the inside. Then he starts to move, just tiny rocks with his hips, but the burn is dissipating by the second and Oswald allows the knowledge that he is  _ having sex with Edward Nygma  _ to consume him. His eyes roll back in their sockets, his skin singing and his half-healed injuries temporarily forgotten. 

Edward loves him.  _ Edward loves him.  _

And he can no longer hold back any of the sounds Edward is drawing from him. From his mouth comes a cacophony of moans and whines, and Edward answers with his own little grunts and groans, keeping his thrusts deep and slow as he with more purpose and impulsive confidence. 

This was never going to be hard and fast, not with Oswald in the state that he is, but it's sensual and intimate in a way that has Oswald positively aching with need. Edward seeks out that sweet spot again, and angles every roll of his hips against it when he finds it. 

It causes Oswald to cry uncontrollably. He's never felt anything so special, so fulfilling as this, and he never wants it to end. He brings his hands up to dig his nails tightly into Edward's biceps, hoping that the touch will ground him slightly to endure the constant bliss for a little longer than he knows he's really able to. But then Edward nips at his thigh, making Oswald jolt, and the pleasure begins to unfurl in his guts in that unmistakable way that signals the end is coming. 

"Touch me," he pleads, and Edward doesn't hesitate, wrapping one of those strong hands around his cock and pumping in time with his steady thrusts. 

"Yes, that's it," Edward encourages him, his own voice sounding hoarse now as Oswald throws his head back. "I love you Os. Come for me."

Oswald is wracked in the throes of his sudden orgasm, completely helpless to do anything other than squirm and scream and clench his muscles rhythmically around Edward's cock as he rides it out. It's easily the most intense he's ever experienced, which must surely have to do with the fact that Edward has brought him to it. 

When he finally stops pulsing semen over Edward's hand and his own stomach, he flops down bonelessly, exhausted and sated and ready to sleep for a week. He still peels his eyes open to watch with hazy desire as Edward gently pulls out and finishes himself off right there with his own hand, coming all over the sheets within a matter of minutes with a stunningly blissed-out look on his face. Oswald hopes he will be able to remember that look forever. 

Edward takes a second to catch his breath, then casts a critical eye over the mess they've made. "I'm going to get something to clear us up."

Oswald's hand flies out, too fast to be sensible for him, to grab Edward's wrist and prevent him leaving. "Not yet. Just… stay with me. For a minute."

Edward looks like he's weighing up the pros and cons, before opting to lie down at Oswald's side, considerate of his injuries. "Are you alright?" 

Oswald can't help but laugh at how absurd such a question seems right now. Now he's high on hormones as well as medication. "I've never been better. I'm perfect, Edward. Better than perfect."

The worry leaves Edward's face as he grins coyly. "I don't know, I've seen you on better days."

Oswald blindly grasps for his hand, linking their fingers together tightly when he finally finds it. "Well, let's hope there are a lot more of those to come."

He feels Edward press a sweet kiss to his temple. "There will be. I promise."

Of course there will be, and Oswald knows it. Every day with Edward at his side is perfect. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know this series was supposed to be just one-shots, but I make the rules and I want these two to bone, so just to say it again, there will be a second chapter where the rating skyrockets.


End file.
